


Course of Action

by DixieFriday



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Daddy Kink, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 12:38:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10465215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieFriday/pseuds/DixieFriday
Summary: Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter have been together for a while now. So long they've yet again taken in a stray, a girl who they've raised as their own for the last few years. Will had insisted they take her in instead of eliminating her with her mother. But now things have changed, shifted, and Hannibal thinks it's time to join their little adoptive family in another way. It's either that, or lose her.So he slips into her room, at night, and with an intent that will either tear he and Will apart, or make their family something a little darker, but much stronger.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one shot and it's a little rapey. It also strikes me as sweet, but I have an odd sense of humor. Thankfully, so do most of my Fannibal Family.

His hand pressed against her back before she could even begin to get up and she would have screamed if his hand hadn’t closed around her throat a second before and squeezed. The weight of his body followed the touch of his hands and instead of being able to run she was pressed to her bed.

“You knew it was going to be tonight.” He said and there was admiration in his voice. She nodded, her throat clicking as she struggled to gain air. She also tried to push back, shove against him. He held her with a simple shift of his weight “I won’t kill you.” He whispered, “But if you keep struggling you might wish I have.” 

She stopped then, because she knew the tone, the change in his voice. The pressure on her throat lifted and the hand that had held her in what was very nearly a death grip turned loving against her neck, he leaned and whispered, “Tell me how you knew.” 

She swallowed, her throat clicked, “Dinner. You didn’t take long to finish your food.” She whispered.

“That’s it.” He said. It wasn’t a question, it was a spoken thought. He slid so he was laying beside her, his hand brushing back her hair. He had on his housecoat and she suspected that was it. His eyes met hers and he smiled, “You’re so much like your mother.” 

She turned away and he grabbed her chin, turning his face to hers, “Remember what I’ve taught you as well.”

“I do.” She said, her voice little more than a whisper and it shook. She was crying and he took a single tear onto the tip of his little finger and watching her, licked it off. 

“Are you afraid?” He asked. 

“Yes.” She whispered. The tears were coming faster now and he reached into his pocket and pulled a linen handkerchief out, he cleaned her face. She wasn’t struggling at all now. He felt proud of her. She was admitting things about herself that were bringing her great pain psychically and soon he would cement that physically. And then - well, that would be the interesting part. He was curious about that part. 

“What are you afraid of?” He asked. His hand slid to her shoulder and pushed gently until she was facing him. The silk of her nightgown slid over her skin and he reached down to run his hand over it. Almost all the color was gone in the dim light that filtered through the window. In the lack of light the deep red of the silk looked nearly black. He smiled. 

“Pain.” She said, quick, obedient, perhaps even with a bit of relief. “Shame.”

He stopped all movements for a long time and she finally met his eyes. They were gentle, his gaze was soft. He finally moved until he was over her. She tried to back up but instead found herself on her back as his body shifted, the weight of his leg over hers stopped her. He looked down the length of them and his hand followed his gaze, slipping down her and began slowly lifting the silk of her nightgown with his fingers. It slid up over her hips, but not further, instead his hand moved down. His long index finger found it’s way between the folds of her labia. They were dry but he pushed and his finger partially entered her. His finger moved slowly back and forth, back and forth, and she flushed even deeper as she realized it’s movements were becoming free. She was growing wet. The easier he slid the deeper he went, until he was buried in her. A second finger joined the first and she clenched. 

 

“It will hurt.” He said, removing his fingers as he spoke, “It’s the nature of what I am and the nature of your size. And I want it to hurt a little. But you have no reason for shame. If you fight me I will still do this. This is all me, and yes, I believe this is the right thing for you, but it is not your responsibility. This is mine. And while I expect trust in me will be impossible, if you will, it will not hurt badly.” 

He removed his housecoat; her cheeks flushed but she didn’t look away. She had seen him nude before. They weren’t a shy household. He moved over her, positioned, and pushed. 

At first she thought it wasn’t going to be so bad. Then she realized that was just the initial shock of his spreading her.

She wasn’t a stranger to her own sexuality. She even had a small dildo she’d bought for herself and found it serviceable with an accompanying vibration from some direction. It was because of this she had believed herself broken open already. But he was proving to her she couldn’t have been more wrong. She felt an intense pressure. Then something that felt like the tip of an exacto blade pushing into her finger. The feeling of a hook sinking into your thumb. Only the pain was deeper than any finger cut could be. It burned her center.

He was holding himself over her, watching her eyes change from ones of fear to ones of complete pain. This young woman he had taken as his daughter tilted her head back, her hands flexed, and she screamed. He lost himself a little in those screams, but even this small loss was a planned one. He moved in and out of her with a rapid thrusting that was designed to let him stay as deep in her as he could. She became wet with blood and his rocking movement spread the wetness, first over his cock, then across her thighs. He leaned down, rubbing it between them. 

It was only when he heard the screaming change to her screaming for him that he came back to himself. Her skin was white against the bedsheets, her flat stomach facing up toward him. From the navel down this whiteness was marred by shadows. In the moonlight, it was black. He had fucked her hard. He throbbed and was sweating. He was holding her down again, her delicate wrists in his palms, and those pressed to the soft feather bed. They’d have to replace the mattress for her, of course. If she stayed. 

He realized then that he might lose her. He had known this intellectually, of course. They had lost her mother, after all. But being here in the moment. He might lose her. He leaned down, kissed her forehead. She was sobbing and her screams had become paper thin. He let go of her wrists, shifting to hold down her thighs, press them back and down onto the bed so her labia was spread and open. He then slid out of her and down to put his mouth between her legs. He knew this might be the only time, the only…

She changed then from screaming for him to screaming for Will. And she did something she swore she would never do. She screamed “Daddy”.

Hannibal closed his eyes, his tongue still working, and memorized this moment while at the same time losing himself to it. He might want it later. To make them grow, to discover what they would do, he may have destroyed his family. This wasn’t the first time he’d done something this drastic. He wondered at this urge of his that he seemed unable to stop playing out, but then pushed it aside and tasted. 

He licked and drank her until he felt her pulled from him. He let her go, falling to his side, opening his eyes, and watching Will looking back at him as he guided their daughter away, the blue blanket from the bed they shared around her shoulders. 

He licked his bloodstained lips and closed his eyes, letting them go. For now. 

 

Will carried her into the bathroom, placed her on the sink, and turned the hot water on full force in the shower, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He whispered over and over. She didn’t reply, just sat completely still with the blue blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders. He fetched towels, four of them, from the linen closet and placed them on the towel warmer.

“You knew?” She asked. 

“I don’t know if I knew.” He said, his cheeks coloring. She knew he was lying, but he wasn’t lying to her so much as himself and she wasn’t offended. She’d seen him lie to himself often enough that it wasn’t shocking. 

He rolled the sleeves of his shirt up and looked at her, his eyes deliberately avoiding her bloody thighs and belly, “Let me help you.” He said. 

She nodded and dropped the bloody blanket, holding out her arms. He moved in, helped her shuffle into the bathroom. The water was so hot it stung and burned but neither of them corrected it. He slipped his glasses off and put them on the side of the marble tiled shower. It quickly began swirling red down the drain. He grabbed a cloth and gently started wiping at her belly, his clothes sticking to his body. She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall.

“We can call the police.” He said, after the water started running clear again.

“Now? After the shower?” She asked. 

There was a long silence, his head hung down, hair clinging to his cheeks, “His semen will be in you.” 

She nodded. It would. “I need a morning after pill.” She said. 

“I’ll get it for you.” He stood up, his eyes meeting hers. They were red and she realized he’d been crying long before this shower. “Should we go talk to the police?” He asked. They both knew that really he should make her. He should insist. She should be running away from here. Getting in her car. 

Their eyes locked.

They stood in the hot water and then as one stepped forward. His mouth pressed against hers and her arms wrapped around his waist. They kissed and their bodies convulsed against each other as they both sobbed. Her fingers moved up, tangled in his hair and his slid down her body, resting on her hips. They broke off, pressed their foreheads together. “I love you.” She whispered.

“I love you.” He said, his hands tightened, “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“It doesn’t matter.” She said, “I’m already hurt.” 

“This is wrong.” He whispers. 

“Yes.” She said and leaned in to kiss him again. Their mouths never separated as they removed his clothes, working his wet jeans down his hips only far enough to free his erection, and they were both crying as he entered her, his erection so hard that it wrought a hard agony inside of her. Blood and water ran down their legs and down the drain. 

They shut off the water after the first few thrusts. He shifted, picked her up, and carried her to the bed. 

There was no more blood that night. 

But semen stained their sheets. 

 

She woke up to the smell of frying bacon and a softer smell that suggested baked goods. Maybe something complex but chances are Teve had simply made blueberry muffins. Her favorite. 

Will’s arm rested around her waist and she could tell from his breathing that he was asleep. She moved a bit, testing to see if he’d react. When he didn’t she was both disappointed and a little relieved. She didn’t know if she could face her father knowing that anything she said might hurt Will. Might hurt her daddy. 

She moved out from under his arm and examined herself. Earlier in the night he had gone and gotten one of her nightgowns. It was a simple, white linen shift, too large for her, but exceedingly comfortable because of it. She thought about getting dressed, thought about the pain between her legs, and decided to go as she was.

Walking silently, barefoot, she made her way to the kitchen. His back was to her, but it didn’t matter. 

He was wearing an apron and stirring something that smelled like lightly seasoned eggs. Bacon and a blueberry muffin were already plated on an island behind him. Orange juice and coffee rested beside them, one covered in condensation with cold, the other steaming with heat. She looked at the arrangement for a long time. 

Beside the plate was a pill, white and small.

She reached out, touched the pill. 

“This won’t undo it.” She said. 

“I don’t want to.” He didn’t turn, “Your eggs are almost done.”

She closed her fingers around the pill, lifted it to her lips, then pulled it back and looked at it. “Side effects?”

“I can write you something for them.” He turned and plated the eggs then looked at her. His eyes met and held hers, “I’m not sorry.” 

“I know.”

“Are you?” 

“I don’t know.” 

His gaze shifted from hers and looked at the pill, “You don’t have to take it.” 

“I know.” She said, and she put it in her mouth, swallowed, and sat down. He nodded and turned again, taking down more ingredients. Soon the smell of eggs and some sort of vegetarian sausage filled the room as he cooked for Will. She ate her food and once she was done she put Will’s food in the oven while he sipped coffee. “I’m hurting.” She said, finally.

“It was traumatic.” 

“I’m sore.”

“I didn’t expect you to be a virgin.” He said. She felt her cheeks color, but only a little, then she lifted her gaze as he had taught her to do when she felt shamed for no logical reason and met his gaze. 

“Who else would I have been with, after knowing you? After knowing Will?” 

He smiled, faint, but from him it was was a sort of approval. 

“Were you waiting for Will?” He asked. 

She considered the question, turning to the sink, “I wanted him.” She finally said.

“But you knew he wouldn’t.” The smile had turned to amusement.

“Which is how I knew you would.” 

His hand pressed her waist. She hadn’t heard him move, but she wasn’t surprised. He leaned and his lips pressed with the lightest brush against her ear, “I’m going to have you again, if you stay.” 

His fingers wrapped lightly around her wrist, taking her pulse. She couldn’t stop it speeding up, couldn’t stop her smell. The pressure of his fingers relaxed and he slid his hand up her arm, to her shoulder, inhaling deeply. She didn’t say anything, just stepped back from the sink and turned around, looking up at him.

They stared for a long time, “This changes things.” She said. 

“It was meant to.”

She took a deep breath, “I’m staying.” 

“I thought you might.” 

“You also thought I might leave.” She said, and her voice wavered. With horror she realized she might cry.

“Yes.” He said, and he leaned down and lightly kissed her cheek, then slid his lips to her ear, “Things couldn’t keep going the way they were. I would have loved it but they couldn’t. You can’t live with the devil and stay an angel.”

She closed her eyes, breathing the smell of him. She knew both Teve and Will by scent. She could distinguish fine wines and perfumes. She knew flowers by smell alone. But nothing matched the mixture of heat and cologne and something raw and elemental about Teve. She leaned her head forward slowly and rested her forehead on his shoulder, breathing in and his arm slid around her. They had stood like this before but it had never meant anything like it did now. And that made her sad in one way, but in another she realized this was more.

Something in him was relaxing as well. He could have his family it seemed. His cake and eat it too. He wondered how her flesh tasted. Her blood had been spicy and sweet. Years of his cooking had lent her a smoky taste just subtle enough to be intoxicating. She was nothing like Will, but neither was better or worse than the other. 

This thought was the catalyst. He leaned down and lifted her in his arms, her head stayed on his shoulder. 

Neither of them said anything as he carried her to bed and lay her down next to Will. He stood and began removing the apron first, he was unbuttoning his shirt when Will woke up with a gasp. He looked first to her, laying on her back on the bed. She wasn’t scared, her breathing was normal, and through her nightgown he could see the hard nubs of her nipples. He then looked up at Hannibal. 

“I-” He started to talk but she turned her head and looked at him, lifting one hand to press her fingertips to his lips. He turned back to her and something in their gaze spoke and he was silent.

His eyes stayed on hers.

They stared as Hannibal’s weight finally came down on the bed. He pushed up her nightgown watching them stare at each other and feeling it excite him more deeply than he had been excited since boyhood. This time she spread her legs without pressure of him and he looked down to see her labia was the raw red color of freshly cut meat. This would hurt her and she was inviting it. 

Because it would feel good too.

He leaned forward, to look more carefully at their faces as he entered her. Will mirrored her wince after the first thrust. The tears after the next few. And then he was lost to them, working his hips in and out, his thick cock pressing inside of her and breaking her again the smell of her blood, new tears filling him. He pushed, pushed, pushed and finally felt it come, the release that was so like swallowing. So like the taste of wine, of meat. He spilled into her and came back to himself. 

She was crying, her hand linked tightly with Will’s, their mouths locked in a soul kiss, her eyes were closed, his were not. Her other hand was on Hannibal’s shoulder, her thumb smoothing over and over on his skin. Will’s mouth broke from hers and he looked up at Hannibal and there was some hate there. But before he could respond, before this dream could be shattered and soft voice of the girl now woman they had raised these last few years came from under him. 

“Do it again, Father.”

**Author's Note:**

> Teve is the Lithuanian version of "papa" or so I've been told. I don't speak the language, alas.


End file.
